


(a world alone)

by bipolaryangxiaolong (rosesandcinnamon)



Series: wings of wax [11]
Category: RWBY
Genre: F/F, My usual stuff, thats it, theyre in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-17 03:07:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16508189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosesandcinnamon/pseuds/bipolaryangxiaolong
Summary: Blake will sit in Yang’s lap even if there’s room next to her. It’s not about the availability; it’s just that she doesn’t want to be on a couch, she wants to be on Yang. If she wanted to be on the couch, she would be on the couch.“You love being on me when you're drunk,” Yang laughs, the vibration of her voice passing into Blake's own skin, a pleasant hum. “Do you remember the time Ruby said you were like the free real estate guy and you were so upset?”You're my best friend, and we're dancing in a world alone.





	(a world alone)

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thank u to erin @twelveclara / explosivesky for the constant inspiration and putting up with my headcanon bullshit!! this started as a simple ""it's not FREE real estate it's MY real estate and I BELONG here" -drunk Blake asked to leave Yang's lap" idea and now it is. this.  
> companion playlist [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/60n63x0372g19427gt359d1fv/playlist/6mPpR746cI7QncJ39ZLRRD?). though a world alone, saw you in a dream, and drive are the most important, the whole playlist is pretty good.

Blake likes to listen while Yang gets ready to go out -- she likes to watch, too, but that usually leads to being late (or not going at all). She’s so human in the little sounds she makes: _hmm_ s of looking through their shared closet, digging through her dresser drawers, excited _ooh_ when she finds what she’s looking for or maybe even something that works better, repetitive sing-song bits of whatever she has stuck in her head, narrating what she’s doing. It’s so honest and genuine and unguarded -- knowing she is the one person besides Yang’s family who knows these tiny details about her has an effect on Blake’s poorly hidden possessive (even selfish) streak. It makes her breathlessly happy, to know Yang is in her life this way for _her_ and in no one else’s the same exact way. Maybe she is selfish; she’ll admit it, because at this point, no one is going anywhere fast, despite whatever possessive, selfish nature Blake has.

Yang’s humming becomes under-her-breath singing, the quiet tune catching Blake’s attention both in its lyrics and its existence as her usual tell for being ready to go. Yet when Yang walks out of their bedroom, Blake’s breath catches in her lungs. 

“Like it, baby?” Yang asks, cheeky, theatrically pushing her hip out to put her hand on the curve. Blake’s eyes don’t seem to know where to rest-- lined eyes, red lips, long hair, collarbones, exposed cleavage, tight crop top, a torso that may as well be made out of marble, shorts with hems so high they’re sinful, the fabric disappearing into deceivingly plush thighs, fuck, her _thighs_ \-- “ _I_ think it’s cute,” Yang says, pointedly playful tone bringing Blake back to reality.

“Yang,” Blake starts, voice low, mouth dry. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it out the door if you’re wearing-” she gives her another up-and-down, “ _that_.”

“Oh, I know,” Yang says. “I’m putting a jacket on over this.” She turns, heads back to their room -- but pauses in the doorway to look at Blake’s slack-jawed expression. “I just wanted to see you make that face,” she adds, winking before going further into their room, door wide open behind her. Blake’s fingers twitch with the urge to go after her, kiss her quiet and pin her to the bed, muss that lipstick and make sure they really aren’t going anywhere tonight -- instead, she takes a deep breath and turns back to putting her shoes on. Two can play this game.

“Hurry up, love,” Blake calls, after the minimum five minute waiting period. She rolls her eyes after a beat of silence, standing up. “Yang,” she sighs, about to continue when Yang finally reappears in the doorway.

“I know, I know,” she says. While her gorgeous arms and collarbones are covered by a big flannel jacket, her abs are still out on display. “I can’t decide what to wear. As much as I like getting your attention, I’m bound to get everyone else’s attention too.” She pouts, crossing her arms over her chest, and oh, there’s Blake’s twitchy fingers again.

“Does it matter?” Blake asks; Yang’s eyes widen at the casual tone. “You’ll be in my bed at the end of the night anyway.”

Yang smiles, sharp edges of her worry smoothed down. She goes to Blake, content to touch her face, so much closer to her own with the added height of Blake’s boots in contrast to Yang’s bare feet. “It’s _our_ bed, for the record,” she says. She presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth, unbothered by her matte lipstick. Blake turns, slightly, just enough to catch her completely. Yang is, unsurprisingly, unbothered by that as well. 

“It’s going to be so hard to keep my hands off of you,” Blake breathes, Yang’s forehead still pressed against her own. Yang laughs, slips her hands past Blake’s jacket, holds Blake’s waist as if the curve of her body is the world in her palms. Blake wonders how anyone ever exists without this type of love. 

“I’ll drive tonight,” Yang says, eyes bright with affection. “You can get tipsy and put your hands wherever you like.”

“That sounds good,” Blake tells her, knowing they need to get going, yet wanting so badly to stay where she is, basking in Yang’s warmth. It’s Yang who steps back first, knowing the meaning of the love in Blake’s face and how they really are going to get sidetracked if they don’t leave. 

“Come on, babe,” Yang says, tone light, spinning her keys on her finger. “Let’s go.”

 

It’s a surprise to almost everyone when Blake says that she really does like house parties -- with a caveat. Only house parties with Yang. She likes being tipsy and finding a spot next to her girlfriend and enjoying life. She feels more secure when Yang’s the DD -- she orbits the party around Yang, checking in every so often, getting water, asking for the time. She likes it when she can feel Yang’s eyes on her, especially in a more unfamiliar setting. She knows Yang is going to keep her safe. 

She’s unfortunately blunt and tactless when she’s drunk. Conversations, especially with men, are often ended with “I’m gonna go have an interesting conversation with my girlfriend. Bye.” Yang knows it, too; she’ll watch Blake move across the room to her and be on the receiving end of a confused glare. She can only shrug with a smirk, and when Blake slips into her lap, tease her about it.

“What was wrong with that one, baby?” she asks, pressing a kiss to her temple before she sets her head against hers.

“Nothing, it just occurred to me that I’d much rather be over here with you,” Blake replies, nestling in. “Also, he was trying to mansplain the LSAT scoring to me, because apparently a woman already in law school doesn’t know how it works.” Yang laughs at that, shooting a derisive look to the guy in question.

“My genius girlfriend had nothing to say about it?” she teases, tugging at a belt loop on her jeans.

“Oh, I could have said plenty,” Blake tells her. “But it would have been a waste of my time.”

“I rank higher in your priorities than morons who think they know more than you, huh?” Yang’s entirely joking; she knows where Blake’s priorities lie. So when Blake raises her head to make eye contact, it’s surprising.

“Yang,” she says, self-satisfied smirk on her face, “there is no one I would rather be talking to.”

Yang can only kiss her in response. It’s quicker and more chaste than she’d like, but even drunk Blake is averse to excessive PDA. Drunk Blake just wants to snuggle; Yang in any form is okay with that. They talk for a little while, hushed whispers to each other, before Blake is sucked into a game of pong. She leaves Yang’s lap (a little reluctantly, but) willingly, smiling at her before joining the game. Yang can’t help but think of the person Blake was when they met -- she stares at her feet for a minute, then goes to the kitchen to get some water.

 

Yang is standing against the wall, bottle of water in her hand, idly watching Blake play against someone who obviously has no idea what they’re up against. She’s thinking less about the party and more about how Blake moves and the way her lips curl up into a smirk when her opponent gets upset. Someone sets their weight on the wall beside her; Yang doesn’t make an effort to give the newcomer anything more than a side glance, not even moving her head to look. It’s a guy around her age who doesn’t bother to meet her eyes. She breathes in through her nose, preemptively keeping herself calm. 

He doesn’t speak to her until he realizes she’s not going to say hello. “God, you’re so hot,” is apparently a sufficient greeting in his world. 

Yang keeps her gaze on Blake. “Thanks. I have a girlfriend.”

She knows the reaction without looking -- a raised eyebrow, another up-and-down, sucking in his breath. “That’s even hotter.” Yang only spares him another side glance and shifts her shoulders just enough to be called a shrug. “You know,” he starts, with the kind of self-important but pointedly casual tone only men ever have, “I have a girlfriend too. Don't you ever think about cheating on yours?” 

Yang breathes out, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Nope.” 

“Really? Not ever?” He asks, seeming to be just unfortunately tenacious. “You’re hot, she’d forgive you.” It’s no longer unfortunate. It's idiotic.

“ _No_ , you fucking freak,” Yang says, hands tightly clenched, fingernails biting into the palm of her hand. She absently reminds herself to trim them when she has a chance. 

Yang hopes he’ll just leave her alone, but she has no such luck; he speaks again, apparently ignoring the insult. “Is a threesome cheating?”

Yang turns, finally, to face him. “Get away from me,” she says, voice low and deep like six feet under, like she’s carefully controlled and another version of herself would not be. “Get out of my fucking face and--” he is staring at her face, finally caught in her fury, a fly in a web-- “don’t even think about looking at my girlfriend.” She needs no further threat. He leaves. Blake looks over at her after a win, brows creasing as she looks between her girlfriend and around for whatever put the murder in her eyes; Yang’s smile comes easily (for Blake, always, for Blake) as her shoulders relax. Blake blinks slowly at her before turning back to her game.

 

Yang takes a spot on the couch as soon as its occupants leave, checking the time on her phone for a moment. Before she looks up, someone throws their weight into the cushions beside her.

“Yang!” Sun grins at her when she does look up. “It’s been a while! How are you?”

“I’m good,” she says, returning the smile. They chat easily, enjoying catching up. She’s not surprised to see him, as they have many of the same friends. It’s good to talk with him. 

When Yang’s in the middle of telling a story, she has to stop as she sees Blake moving through the crowd, the certain tilt of her smile telling her all she needs to know. “Aw, man, hold on,” she says, adjusting her legs. “Blake’s here.” 

There’s plenty of room between Sun and Yang on the couch, where Blake could cuddle against Yang, or even on the plush arm, where Blake could drape herself across Yang, but neither of those are even options. She wants to sit in Yang’s lap; her girlfriend is her sole destination. “Hey,” she directs to Sun, a small smile with the greeting. “Hi, baby,” she says to Yang, voice much lower, smile blooming across her face. 

“Hi,” Yang replies. “Come here.” Her gaze is so focused -- Blake is all she sees, all she can bring herself to pay attention to. Blake slips into her lap, back pressed to her chest, making herself comfortable against Yang’s thighs; Yang wraps her arms around her and shifts to distribute the weight. Blake sets her head against her shoulder and closes her eyes. 

“She does this a lot, huh?” Sun asks. His smile is almost playful, the way he sees the two of them with familial affection. 

“All the time,” Yang says. “She’s territorial,” she adds, obviously teasing Blake, ducking to kiss her jawline. 

Blake seemingly ignores her, though Sun can’t help but notice the way her soft smile widens and the way she draws her hands across Yang’s forearms, down to lace their fingers together, leaving visible goosebumps. Yang’s face changes for a moment, violet eyes darkening and her smirk becoming something Sun is vaguely sure he’s not supposed to see. 

“Should I leave?” he asks, half-joking, half-serious.

“Oh, no, please stay,” Blake responds, dry tone insinuating at sarcasm. 

“Stop it,” Yang tells Blake, rolling her eyes. “Let me finish my conversation.” To Blake’s credit, she remains quiet, but Sun is only half-focused on the rest of the story. Truly, he’s never seen Blake as relaxed as she is in Yang’s lap. It could be the alcohol, yet, he doesn’t think so. Alcohol alone doesn’t make a wary, guarded woman boneless and blissfully unconcerned in the midst of strangers. Trust does, though. Trust and security and a love so deep he's not sure it can be rivaled. Sun and Yang do finish their conversation, but afterwards, Sun excuses himself.

“It’s nice to talk to him,” Blake mumbles to Yang.

“You didn’t do any talking,” Yang says, laughing as she nuzzles her head against Blake’s. 

“I was listening,” Blake protests, turning her face. Despite her closed eyes, it’s no shock when Yang presses a soft kiss to her cheek; she turns her face a little further and finds her lips with no trouble.

“You love being on me when you're drunk,” Yang laughs, the vibration of her voice passing into Blake's own skin, a pleasant hum. “Do you remember the time Ruby said you were like the free real estate guy and you were so upset?”

Blake can't stop her own laughter. “Maybe,” she admits. “What did I even say?”

“You had this hilarious scrunchy angry face for a minute before saying, like, _it's not **free** real estate, it's **my** real estate, and I **belong** here!_” Yang adopts her specific tone and emphasis so easily, Blake is shaking from the giggles. 

“I believe that,” she says, cracking her eyes open to look at what she can see of Yang's face. Mostly her cleavage (Blake's not complaining) and when she shifts, her jawline and the planes of her face. Maybe she's tired, maybe she's tipsy, but suddenly, Blake just wants to touch her, wants to be in bed with her. 

At the thought of _bed_ , Blake's body betrays her with a yawn. “Do you want to go, baby?” Yang murmurs, arms tightening around Blake's waist. 

“Yeah, actually,” Blake says, voice in the same low tone. “I kind of want to be in bed with you.”

“Perfect,” Yang replies. “Great minds think alike,” she says teasingly, shifting so Blake will get up.

“And fools rarely differ,” Blake responds, reluctantly standing up. She puts her arms out to stretch, arching her back, enjoying the crack of vertebrae and the way Yang sucks in a breath at the way her favorite jeans cling to the curve of her ass. She turns, smiling (especially at the dumb look on Yang's face) and offers her hand.

“Oh, babe,” Yang finally says, taking her hand and pulling herself up, “I'll be a fool for you any day you like.”

They're isn't really anyone familiar enough to say goodbye to, besides perpetually disappearing Sun, though Yang does stop to thank the host, hand-in-hand with Blake -- she's not one for an Irish goodbye unless Blake wants to fuck her in the car.

They let themselves out, Yang holding the squeaky storm door open for Blake. The night air is chilly against her thin sleeves, Blake finds. She tucks her hands against her sides, focusing on the way Yang’s steps are measured to match hers; she doesn’t realize Yang is taking her own jacket off until it’s around her shoulders. The worn cotton is warm from Yang’s body, the fabric familiar and soft. When she glances to look at Yang, the gentle affection in her face sparks a glow in Blake’s chest. “Stop it,” she says, voice low, unable to reach her usual exasperation -- the words normally said in a hiss or a whine are instead a ghost of that sentiment. 

“Make me,” Yang tells her, mirroring her harmless tone. She tries her usual routine of _raised eyebrow and cocky smirk_ but it fades. “Blake,” she says, “I love you.” They reach the car, but don’t get in; Yang has something to say and neither of them are willing to step away from each other or the intimacy of standing face-to-face.

“I look at you and nothing else matters,” Yang says, gentle, and Blake’s cheeks begin to sting and it’s not because she’s cold. “Like, I saw this on a stupid Tumblr post but- you’re all my heart ever talks about.” She takes a breath to calm herself, Blake waiting for the rest, patient expression lit by the golden streetlamp. “We spend a day apart and I’m fine, but in the back of my head I’m waiting to hear your key in the lock. We go to a party together and all I care about is making sure you’re having fun, because if _you’re_ not having fun _I’m_ not having fun.” Blake's expression softens further as she steps closer. “You make me feel like - fuck, like, the universe or whatever made you and I out of the same star or something, I just-”

Blake grabs her face and kisses her. Yang’s hands, formerly gesticulating as if she didn’t know what to do with them, fall to touch Blake, finding their way home. Blake strokes a thumb across her cheek, urgently and passionately (yet not desperately) trying to communicate her love for her. Yang holds her waist like her presence is a lighthouse in a storm. One hand creeps up to settle against the base of her skull, settling in with her dark hair, cradling the tender juncture of bone and tendon and muscle and veins and nerves and skin, finding comfort in the solidity of her body. When Blake gently moves back, eyes fluttering open, Yang sighs, the flurry of her thoughts calmed. She sets her forehead against Blake's. 

“I didn’t get it until I met you,” Yang says. “Love. I understood the concept, but I didn’t _get it_. I thought it was dumb,” she laughs. “I thought it was all an exaggeration, or straight people hormones.”

Blake has to choke out a laugh at that. Up close, every little detail of Yang's eyes is visible, despite the lighting. She's so beautiful, Blake would hate her if she didn't love her so much. “I thought I did, before you. I thought I knew, and I was wrong.” At the worry creasing lines in Yang’s face, Blake shakes her head, again smoothing her hand over her cheek. “It’s over and that’s what matters.”

Yang sighs, about to say something, but stops herself. “Are you cold, baby?” she asks -- Blake has to smile at how attentive Yang is for her. “I didn't mean to keep you out here.” 

“I'm okay, but we should leave before it gets any later,” Blake says, unable to stop her gaze from drifting down to Yang's mouth. She knows when her lips curl up into a smirk that the implication doesn't go unnoticed.

“Let's go, then.” Yang seems reluctant to move, though. Blake grants her another kiss, soft and chaste.

Yang walks around the car to open the door for her, making sure she's in before closing it. The night air is suddenly so much colder without Blake close to her -- she gets in behind the wheel quickly. The car starts with a familiar growl, radio catching up. The CD in the player starts in the middle of one of Yang's many playlists for Blake, low sound of the music punctuated by the distinct sound of her turn signal. Blake smiles to herself as Yang pulls away from the curb, violet eyes sharp and focused. She's always so much more cautious when Blake is in the car.

She snuggles into Yang’s jacket, not-so-subtly leaning her head into the fabric so she can breathe in lavender and warmth and home. The heater is on for Blake, vents expelling hot air, while Yang’s window is open just a little so she won't overheat. Her eyes are half-open to watch the passing glow of street lamps and traffic lights and other headlights. _I look at you and nothing else matters_ repeats in her mind; she turns her head to watch the way the light plays over Yang. 

Sometimes she looks at her girlfriend and all she can think of is otherworldly beauty. Like deities worshipped for their terrifying nature, awe-inspiring, mortals describing them as beautiful because they had no other words for it. Like angels having no human form, indescribably ancient and powerful. Like queens setting a standard of what it meant to be attractive, unattainable and aloof. But also, the way objectification never worked out for anyone. She thinks of how she knows Yang snorts when she laughs too hard. She thinks of how she knows what a pain Yang’s hair is to deal with. She thinks of how human she is, how human they both are.

“You’re beautiful,” Blake says. “Sometimes I think you walked out of a dream.”

She expects Yang to laugh. Instead, she smiles, oddly taken with the idea. “Maybe I did,” she says, soft. “Maybe I exist only for you.” She slows to a stop at a red light, able to look at Blake’s face illuminated by the color. There’s a touch of discomfort along with the vulnerability in her expression; Yang reaches for her hand, fingertips skimming her knuckles. “In the best way possible,” she adds, tracing her own path to Blake’s palm, to curl their hands together. 

Blake’s internal narrative pauses, an abrupt shut-down at the gentle touch and phrase; she can only blink at Yang, a slow movement, trying to express how she feels. Yang looks away from her face only when the light changes, bathing Blake’s skin in green instead of red. She doesn’t try to take her hand back, though, instead adjusting to steering with her left hand, even into turns. 

“I’m so in love with you it feels like it should hurt,” Blake says. It surprises both of them, the sudden and genuine feeling. 

Yang takes a moment to think of how to reply. “Does love feel like it should hurt?” she asks, careful to stay neutral. There’s no trickery, no right answer, just curiosity. 

“No, I-” Blake stops, squeezing Yang’s hand. “It doesn’t hurt at all, that’s the thing, Yang, it’s so _deep_ \--” she gestures with her free hand, holding it over her chest and curling her fingers towards herself, trying to express the feeling. “I feel like I could drown in it, except-”

“I will never let anything happen to you.” Yang tries to not make interrupting Blake a habit, but this is something she has to address immediately. They’re at home, now, the car in park, Yang only hesitating to turn the engine off because she doesn’t want the heater to quit. She turns fully to Blake, finding her gaze in the low lighting. “Blake, I don’t want anything I do to hurt you. I couldn’t live with myself.”

“I know,” Blake breathes, leaning forward, touching the delicate skin of Yang’s wrist over her veins. “It feels like it _should_ , but it _doesn’t_ ,” she repeats, but adds on: “Because you love me.” in the most reverent way, more like she’s praying than talking to her girlfriend. 

“How could I not?” Yang uses the same low voice, but can’t help the smile seeping into her tone. “You’re… everything, Blake. I don’t know how to tell you how important you are, and I just--” Blake’s soft touch encourages her to continue. “I have to make you feel how much I love you, every day. Because I don’t have the words. Does that make sense?” She’s quiet to the point of being shy, so open about her feelings.

“Oh, Yang,” Blake murmurs. “Get out of the car so I can kiss you.” Yang laughs at that, but obliges, shutting the car off and getting out as Blake unbuckles to do the same. Blake waits for her on the curb despite the late-night chill, reaching towards her once she’s close. 

Yang takes the offered hand, stepping more into Blake’s space yet still being respectful; Blake puts her other hand on Yang’s waist, fingers curling into the fabric, tilting her face up. The smile that spreads across Yang’s face just before she kisses her, plus Yang’s hand on her back -- oh, it feels like the sun is rising in Blake’s skin. 

For Yang, Blake’s touch is soothing, calming, like the way summer nights are wonderfully cold compared to the day’s heat. Blake slips her hand underneath her jacket to touch her exposed skin, a possessive hunger in the way she pulls her body tighter to herself that makes Yang weak. When Yang has breath to speak, it’s a quiet whimper of Blake’s name -- Blake moves to kiss her again, but Yang has to squeeze her hand. 

“Babe, babe,” she says, laughter hushed. “Let’s go inside. Please.”

Blake sighs, reluctant to move until she realizes: inside means bed, bed means warm, bed means-- “Okay, fine,” she says, tugging at Yang’s hand as she turns to go inside. “You’ve convinced me.” Yang stifles more laughter, shaking her head, but follows Blake into the house. 

Blake loves to be at home. It’s more than her quiet nature, more than her general dislike of other people. It’s that she’s so grateful to be here, to be in a little rental place with someone who loves her so much, to live her life so peacefully. They left a light on when they left; Blake drops her hand for a moment to turn it off, Yang waits for her, finding her again in the unlit hallway, brushing a hand through her hair to rest on her lower back. Her touch sends a shiver up Blake’s spine -- for a second, she contemplates pushing Yang against the wall and ensuring they never make it to their bed. But then Yang opens their door, dropping a kiss to Blake’s head as she passes in front of her. Blake takes off her jacket as Yang turns the bedside lamp on before bending to untie the laces of her boots. Blake rolls her eyes, slips out of her own shoes, then goes to Yang, putting deceivingly gentle hands on her back before shoving her onto the bed. 

Yang makes a sound of surprise that turns into laughter as she falls, blonde hair spilling around her head, lilac eyes sparkling at her once she rolls over. Blake finds herself hopelessly in love at the sight of her, so beautiful, in their bed, in their house. “I would have sat down if you had asked,” she says, corner of her mouth pulling up into a smirk. Blake settles on her thighs, knees bookending her hips. Yang’s hands fall naturally to Blake’s back pockets, pulling her closer. 

“What else will you do if I ask?” she says, a teasing, wondering tone in her voice as she touches Yang’s face, brushing stray pieces of hair away.

“Oh, for you? It’s a short list.” Yang responds, quiet, smiling, as Blake leans down to kiss her. “Anything. Anything you ask," she whispers to her. Then, Blake's lips are on her own, and all higher reasoning has vanished. 

**Author's Note:**

> blake "it's free real estate" belladonna and yang "it's not free it's hers" xiao long are in love. thank u, next.


End file.
